by K. M. Shea
Oswald planted his hands on his hips. “Wimpy—ouch!” He crashed to the ground when the other man threw his sword scabbard, smacking Oswald in the head.
“That would be Rupert—he’s Lord Hugel’s nephew and heir,” Marzell said.
Angelique made a noise of appreciation as she studied Oswald’s head, noting the already-forming welt. Rupert might look fragile, but apparently he could give as good as the others.
“Surely you must know me!” Crowed the warrior that resembled a storybook prince.
Unexpectedly, one of the warriors popped out by Blondie’s feet, toting a hand harp. “Everyone knows My Lord!” He strummed a chord on the harp to accent his words.
The duo looked expectedly at Snow White, who instantly clammed up.
Her cheeks blazed red enough to light the room. “I apologize,” she said in a voice that was just barely louder than a whisper.
“What was that?” Blondie said.
“I a-apologize,” Snow White faltered. “I don’t…”
Blondie’s sidekick—who was still strumming his harp—plucked a string so hard it broke. “You don’t know My Lord?”
“Impossible!” Blondie declared with absolute confidence.
“This is Lord Aldelbert and his attendant, Wendal,” Marzell explained as the harp player—Wendal—sped past him. “Aldelbert is Lord Chita’s only son.”
Wendal selected a rolled-up canvas from one of the overflowing barrels and stalked up to Snow White. “Here.” He offered her the canvas. “I’m certain you only need to view My Lord in his finery, and you will recall seeing him in the halls of Glitzern Palace, Princess.”
Snow White—as sweet as a bunny—smiled with obvious nervousness and unrolled the canvas, revealing a painting of Aldelbert dressed in a silken tunic, holding a golden cup and a bunch of grapes while smiling roguishly.
Angelique leaned in so she could peer over Snow White’s shoulder at the portrait in fascination. Incredible—I never knew people with such unshakable self-confidence existed! I don’t think I could hold that pose for more than five seconds before I’d want to throw that awful cup. It looks like a picture painted for a marriage interview.
“Is he trying to marry a rich old lady?” Angelique asked.
“I beg your pardon?” Wendal sputtered.
Angelique tapped the painting. “Because this seems like the kind of thing you would give a rich old lady.”
Angelique half-thought Aldelbert would be offended, but instead he laughed with genuine joy. “Hah-ha! I like your fire, poorly dressed woman! Wendal, select a portrait for her as well, to reward her!”
Wendal scowled but stomped his way over to the barrel. “She doesn’t deserve it, My Lord.”
“Yeah, that’s fine,” Angelique said. “I don’t really want a ‘reward’ like that either.”
Apparently Aldelbert’s word was all that mattered, because Wendal ignored her and selected another canvas.
He cradled it in his arms as he reluctantly crossed the room and was nearly run over by another one of the Seven Warriors: a young man built like an ox (with the broadest set of shoulders Angelique had ever seen) and brilliant red hair.
He yawned widely as he slogged his way into the cottage—not reacting when Wendal squawked at him—and sat down with a thump on one of the table benches.
He wobbled from side to side for a moment, then fell forward, his face hitting the table with a painful thud.
Angelique raised an eyebrow as she glanced from the fallen giant to the unconcerned warriors. “Is he alright?”
“Yes, he’s fine,” said Marzell—who was apparently the official greeter…or maybe the only warrior with a deeply-held attachment to unnecessary social niceties. “That’s Gregori. His family owns Waldberg Imports.”
Waldberg, Waldberg, how do I know that name? Angelique dimly recalled the company name, and if she remembered correctly, they were incredibly rich and one of the most important merchant families in Mullberg.
They’d owned some of the warehouses near the Chosen strongholds she’d broken into—which was somewhat of an inconvenience because they were meticulous in guarding their goods. She and Quinn had to actually be careful when breaking in so as to not draw their notice.
But to find a member of the Waldberg family here? Hmm. Mighty high society I’m keeping for a tiny cottage in the middle of the woods with (suspiciously) none of them being cursed.
The last companion—a silent young man who was the tallest out of the lot—forcibly shoved the door back in the cracked and damaged frame. “Needs repairs,” he said.
Marzell frowned at the misshapen door. “So it would seem. Ah—princess, allow me to introduce my final companion, Fritz.”
The silent warrior slipped his hood off and smiled slightly. Between the quiet way he moved and his ashy brown hair with his light hazel eyes, he would have seemed icy, but the smile softened him and showed the underlying gleam of kindness in his eyes.
“Fritz is actually a forester,” Marzell explained. “We wouldn’t be able to survive like this without him.”
Angelique speculatively looked Fritz over, and then translated for Snow White’s benefit. “That means he’s the only useful one out of the bunch. So you’ll want to make sure you convince him.” She swatted in Fritz’s direction with the rolled-up canvas painting of Aldelbert for emphasis.
He's probably the one that organized the pots and herbs. Something tells me the wolverine and his rival didn’t hang weeds from the rafters.
“I have many uses!” Aldelbert protested.
Angelique tapped the painting on her side—loving that she was wearing pants. “I am unconvinced.”
“Snow White,” Marzell began. “Can you tell us, now, why you are here?”
Snow White licked her lips. “Ah. Yes. There is something wrong with my stepmother.”
“Queen Faina?” Marzell asked.
Snow White nodded.
Oswald snorted. “Any one of us could have told you that! She’s ignoring the steady creep of monsters and fiends slowly invading Mullberg.” He squeezed one eye shut as he peered down the length of a dagger. Angelique’s magic was acutely aware of the small nick in one edge.
“It’s not just that…” Snow White trailed off when Oswald, Rupert, Marzell, and the quiet Fritz all stared at her.
“Yes?” Marzell kindly asked.
Rupert leaned against the questionably steady stair railing. “You’ve broken into our house, Your Highness. Now is hardly the time to be coy.”
Angelique made a show of stepping away and returning to digging through the warriors’ food stores—she was more than a little surprised that none of them objected.
I must give them some credit—they weren’t nearly as upset about finding two strangers in their house as I imagined. Given their appearance and conduct, Snow White should be able to win them to her cause.
Angelique only half-listened as Snow White explained her unfortunate tale to the warriors. The princess struggled some, stammering and tripping over some words—it seemed like speaking or being the center of attention was difficult for her. But the love she held for her stepmother seemed to push her through as she told the warriors about Faina’s attack on her, and—despite their openly calling Queen Faina mad—insisted it was not her stepmother’s fault.
Unfortunately, it seemed Snow White’s arguments were not convincing enough for the Seven Warriors. They were too jaded from their time spent hunting monsters in the wilds—something Angelique could empathize with.
But in this case, they’re wrong.
As such, Angelique wasn’t surprised when Snow White grabbed her hand, her eyes shining with desperation, and asked her if magic could be the cause of Faina’s rage.
“Please,” Snow White said.
Angelique scratched her head. “It’s hard to say. She’s not cursed—those don’t come and go on a person like that—and curses are what I have the most experience in. But I’ve encountered enough dark magic over t
he years to say it’s possible it might be affecting Queen Faina. There’s certainly a lot of it swirling around the continent these days, making it far more likely. It’s impossible to know for sure, though, unless you are in her presence.”
It's almost certainly the Chosen, but I can’t really tell them I’ve been spying. If my identity gets out, whoever is doing this to Faina will run. I will not let that happen!
Snow White drooped. “There have been mages with healing magic in the palace over the past few years. Would they have noticed?”
“I imagine so,” Marzell said.
Angelique barely resisted shaking a finger at him. “Not necessarily.”
Marzell raised an eyebrow. “You think a Veneno Conclave mage would miss such a thing?”
“Call me a cynic, but with the way the continent has been plagued the last few years, they seem rather incompetent, or at the very least cowardly.” Angelique swallowed the hour of complaints she’d like to air about the Conclave and made herself smile instead. Though the smile was so tight, it was probably closer to a grimace.
“What is it about Queen Faina’s actions that make it hard to say if someone—or something—is using magic on her?” Rupert, the pale and almost fragile-looking warrior, asked.
“From the way Snow White tells it, these moods or fits, you could say, have come and gone for a year,” Angel said. “It would take an extraordinary amount of self-control and courage to fight off such magic for so long.”
It’s the one thing that bothers me about this. Black magic is relentless. If a Chosen mage is casting a spell on her, there’s no way she’d be able to fight it off for so long.
Snow White clasped her hands together. “P-perhaps whoever is doing this to her has done that on purpose to make it more gradual, so we wouldn’t notice until it was too late?”
Angelique thought for a moment, then nodded. “That’s a distinct possibility. Given what dark magic users are running around, I can say they’re certainly capable of doing such a thing—though it’s awfully gutsy to do so when the Veneno Conclave has taken up residence in the front courtyard, so to speak—even if the Conclave has lost its teeth in recent years. Still, I’m not saying it couldn’t be done. Particularly given that such a crafty spell would be much harder to find—which would explain why the healers never noticed it. There are a couple other possibilities, of course. Ancient cursed—or magical—artifacts can be responsible for such things. They can hold people under sway, provide extra power, or possess rare magic. Although, they are rarer than unicorns these days.”
Or they could be using Evariste’s power on the queen if he truly is in Juwel.
“So it’s even less likely that an object could be responsible for this than a dark mage,” Marzell said.
“Mmmm, yeah,” Angelique said.
The group continued to talk, but she only half paid attention as she mulled over the possibility of Evariste being used.
Somewhere behind her the wolverine and the frail-but-not-really-frail warrior started arguing, which—naturally—erupted into an actual fight. The two scuffled behind Angelique as she thoughtfully tapped her chin.
I need more information. Right now, I’m just guessing. I’m not even absolutely certain Evariste is in Juwel. But how could I learn more?
Rupert attempted to punch Oswald but nearly fell over from the force of a bad sneeze.
Oswald pulled a dagger from his belt, which made Angelique’s ever-eager core magic perk up again.
Angelique mentally patted it as she would a dog as Oswald and Rupert barreled past her, Rupert unsheathing his sword to block the dagger and then kicking his companion.
I can, however, say with great certainty that Faina’s fits are the work of the Chosen.
Oswald threw his dagger—which made Angelique’s magic wistfully twine around her feet—and hit a hanging basket of onions, spilling the vegetable everywhere.
Angelique caught an onion that nearly smacked her kneecap. This doesn’t perfectly fit their pattern, but I imagine the presence of the Conclave has forced their hand to a certain extent.
The tumbling onions hit the table, which roused the sleeping warrior—Gregori. When his snores stopped, the duo froze—teetering dangerously in the middle of kicks they dared not finish.
A few moments passed, and the sleeping warrior slightly adjusted his splayed position on the table and renewed his snores.
Rupert and Oswald glared at one another and started hissing insults at each other as Snow White and Marzell spoke in hushed undertones by the fireplace—Snow White doing her best to convince the warrior that Faina was being attacked.
When I attempt to send word to Severin, perhaps I should also contact Clovicus and find out if there is a spell that can do what Snow White has described? It would have to be a black magic spell, which means he likely won’t know straight off. But he might be able to find something in the Conclave library.
Angelique happened to glance at Snow White. Her expression was shattered—as if Marzell had torn her heart from her chest.
That can’t be good.
Angelique meandered closer to the pair.
“For at least five years now, Faina has been making increasingly poor decisions as a ruler,” Marzell stated.
Five years…that’s even longer than the headaches. Why didn’t the Chosen move sooner? Were they delaying on purpose?
Snow White started to shake her head to refute his words, but Marzell stalled her by raising his hands.
“Hear me out, please,” he said. “My friends and I came here and have lived in the woods because we so strongly disagree with her.”
Angelique—despite her determination to play a minor role in what was clearly country politics—couldn’t help but pipe up. “Is it really possible for that bright-haired idiot to feel strongly about anything besides himself?” she asked, nodding at Aldelbert.
Marzell ignored the comment. “There have been attacks on our borders—not attacks from other countries, but from terrible creatures: chimera, hell hounds, goblins… Queen Faina has chosen to ignore them.”
Quinn and I had heard the occasional rumor about the creatures, but I didn’t think there were that many. Of course, Marzell might believe there’re many given that he hasn’t stepped foot outside of suspiciously tranquil Mullberg.
“That’s not true,” Snow White objected. “I’ve sat in on dozens of meetings with the Cabinet. She has sent troops to investigate the reports!”
“Weeks—sometimes months—after the monsters have already been taken care of,” Marzell said.
“If it was a serious problem, I would think there would be no suppressing the news.” Angelique casually stood behind Snow White’s bench, trying to show her support—or at least encouragement. “I’ve been traveling the continent, and no one has heard of any trouble stirring in Mullberg.”
“It’s been subtle.” Marzell folded his arms across his chest. “At first the creatures were only on the very fringe of the country—and even now, they do not venture very far in. They only harry those on the outskirts of civilization. But given the sad state of the rest of the continent, it’s rather obvious that there is a trap waiting to snap on Mullberg. The Queen has done nothing to stop, much less prepare for it.”
“If she hasn’t moved, it’s because she didn’t know,” Snow White said. “Her ministers—our ministers—told her countless times she should round you and your companions up, but she said no.”
“I’m not saying Queen Faina’s heart isn’t good, but merely that if she really is mad, it’s been brewing for a while,” Marzell said gently.
Angelique glanced at Snow White and almost did a double take.
The princess lips trembled…but the look in her eyes wasn’t sorrowful but angry.
She loves her stepmother, and she’s going to free her or die trying.
Marzell seemed to be totally unaware of Snow White’s building anger because he spoke in a coaxing voice. “Can you think of no situation where the
Queen neglected to act, and there was a dangerous outcome?”
Snow White froze, and Angelique frowned.
What is she thinking of?
Marzell leaned back in his chair. “You see?”
Iron resolve filled Snow White’s gaze. “I cannot believe it. I will not! Faina needs to be saved.”
“Regardless, I’m afraid we can’t help you, Your Highness.” Marzell’s voice was not unkind, and sympathy made his mouth twitch, but he seemed resolved.
Angelique narrowed her eyes. “Your decision seems awfully final, even though you’ve been in the woods and have not seen Queen Faina yourself.”
Marzell gestured around the cottage. “I don’t have to. We saw the queen start to slide years ago, and you stated yourself that Faina would have to have extraordinary self-control to resist for even a year, did you not?”
Angelique shrugged. “Even so. It seems dangerous to decide without investigating the matter first. Not to mention it is your princess asking for aid.”
Snow White was too distracted to acknowledge the barb—she was staring at her skirts, her lips pressed into a thin line.
Marzell, however, understood it. He raised both of his eyebrows at Angelique, who flatly stared him down.
Go ahead and challenge me, forest-boy. I’ve been saving villages since before you were born!
Marzell must have sensed her mutinous mood because he looked away first. “You can spend the night here. It’s too late for you to leave now anyhow. In the morning, one of us will escort you to a city of your choice.”
Snow White nodded, but she did not lift her gaze.
Marzell awkwardly stood up with the sheepishness of someone who knew they had just greatly disappointed a friend. “If you’ll excuse me, Your Highness.” He retreated before Angelique could finish trying to decide what insult suited him best—hard-headed or of dubious intelligence.
Fritz, the silent forester, interestingly, did not leave.
He didn’t even fidget when Angelique studied his relaxed stance.
I don’t think he’s staying here because he believes we’re going to stir up trouble…